


A Desolate Outpost of Hope

by AlyssiaInWonderland



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Eventual Smut, Heavy Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Other, Pandemics, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-27 10:01:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13878564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlyssiaInWonderland/pseuds/AlyssiaInWonderland
Summary: Leonard's life as a researcher was perfectly normal - an unrequited crush on his colleague, Spock, and lots of paperwork. This peace is turned upside down when a pandemic sweeps Earth.This is Leonard's journey to finding a cure, travelling through tragedy, solace, depression, love and hope, meeting Jim Kirk, and finding peace again.I’ve really enjoyed writing it so far, and I’m hoping to update it as regularly as possible! Spones, McKirk, tragedy, hope...there’s so much I’m putting into this fic, and a lot of myself too. I hope y’all enjoy it too!Written for @thevalesofanduin 's Apocalypse AU challenge on Tumblr.





	1. Chapter 1

Leonard could remember with perfect clarity the exact moment that Patient Zero died.

His coffee had gone slightly cold, and he was glowering sleepily at his salad-plate. The lights of the hospital canteen where he was eating were harsh, and slightly too blue. He always meant to call maintenance to see if they could sort out the blue tinge to the LED lighting, but they never seemed to listen to the governing board, let alone some upstart researcher with barely two years of surgery under his belt. Spock was sat with him, as always, eating his soup without a flicker of discomfort at the hard seats. They were eating in the slightly uncomfortable silence that befitted co-workers who were allied by default over preference due to their comparative youth and outsider status in their research centre. A typical lunch, for an atypical day, which was about to get infinitely worse.

Both of their pagers beeped, simultaneously. Leonard twirled his spinach leaf on his fork, reluctant to bring an end to his carefully cultivated stupor. Spock gave him a long, scrutinising look, piercing through Leonard’s affected disinterest as he checked his messages. If Leonard hadn’t already been intrigued by a missive coming out during lunch break, Spock’s facial expression would have done it.

Spock’s eyebrows furrowed, his lips pressed together thinly, the edges of his eyes creasing up as he breathed sharply in through his nose. Such a cacophony of expression was tantamount to emotional breakdown. Leonard dropped his fork to his plate with a clatter. Spock didn’t even have the courtesy to jump at the sound.

“What is it?” He leaned forward, wrapping his hand around Spock’s jumper-clad wrist and tugging it. “Damn it all, Spock, what the hell is goin’ on?” He tried to speak lowly, to avoid drawing attention, but he knew his urgency was written all over his posture.

Spock opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it again silently. His dark eyes looked up to meet Leonard’s own, his expression filled with a blank shock that Leonard might have rejoiced in had he been the one to cause it.

“Dammit, man, are ya enjoyin’ holdin’ this over my head? What is goin’ on?” Leonard hissed the words, tugging at his wrist again, though Spock’s arm was immovable against the table.

“It would seem,” Spock said, slowly, deliberately, his voice devoid of emotion, “That patient zero has died.”

“Died?” Leonard dropped his hand to the table, leaning back a little in his alarm. “The hell d’you mean? They were –“ He paused, leaned forward to cover their conversation from others in the cafeteria. “They were jus’ fine! A fever, sure, an’ usin’ up analgesics like nobody’s business, but they were stable! We had time ta fix it, accordin’ t’all the scans! What happened?”

“I know nothing more than what I have just informed you of, Doctor McCoy.” Spock tucked his pager back into his pocket, standing, abandoning his half-finished vegan salad. “We are being called back to the lab for a briefing. Our research tasks are being redistributed due to this new development. It would seem that they now wish to apply an equal number of people to finding a cure, over a preference for finding transmission vector.”

“Well, tha’ makes sense, sure.” Leonard downed the cold coffee, grimacing, and grabbed his wallet, following Spock’s longer strides with two of his own on each step. “Wait. Is tha’ gonna mean we ain’t workin’ together anymore?” 

“I do not know.” Spock responded. Leonard fancied that his tone was a little more emotional than it had been before. After a moment of silently hurrying towards their labs, Spock turned his head a little to look over at Leonard. “I find that I…would prefer our professional association to continue, regardless of the similarity of our new assignments.”

“Why, Spock,” Leonard grinned, surprising himself with the level of fondness he found in himself for the other man. “I didn’t know ya cared.” 

Spock cast him an aggrieved glance, and Leonard had to consciously clamp down on a snicker of amusement. It seemed they had moved from tacit allies to almost-friends, without either of them really noticing. Then again, perhaps Spock had noticed. He had ventured to comment on their continued association, after all.

“Well, after you then.” Leonard twisted the door open and held it for Spock.

“Leonard, your insistence that you hold doors open for me is quite illogical considering you inevitably fall behind in pace due to your shorter legs.” Spock stepped through the opened door anyway. “Thank you.”

“Not a problem, ya brat.” Leonard smiled to ease the sting of their usual insult-laden banter.

“It seems only a logical conclusion to reach that one so uncouth as yourself would be unable to graciously accept a submission of gratitude.” Spock said, loftily, as Leonard moved to stand next to him amongst the small crowd of researchers.

“An’ I can’t believe as y’actually used the word ‘uncouth’. This ain’t some Romantic Era novel, y’know.” Leonard shot back.

“Yet another piece of evidence in favour of the illogicality of the human race. Quite why the Romantic Era of literature is called such never fails to escape me.” Spock’s lips twitched a little, in the not-smile Leonard had come to recognise as amusement.

“It would.” Leonard said, dryly. “Tell me, have y’ever actually felt struck down by the beauty of somethin’, or are ya always driven by your logic?”

“Not always.” Spock said, his tone one unknown to Leonard, unsettling in its intensity and unfamiliarity. Spock’s gaze was hot on Leonard’s face, and he blushed, looking away, bereft of the words that usually came so naturally to him.

The sound of the door snapping open and then shut quieted the hubbub of gossip and competitive conversation amongst their cohort. Their head researcher, Dr. Boyce, had arrived. 

* * *

 

As Spock had half-predicted, Leonard and Spock were assigned differently. Spock, as a specialist in modelling and data analysis, was put to work on simulations that would trace the spread of the disease, and analyse as many factors as possible to pin down any commonalities that might indicate a transmission vector. Leonard, on the other hand, specialised much more closely on the biological aspect, being a medical doctor, and as such was placed in the team working on finding a cure.

It was gruelling work, mentally, physically, and emotionally. Each day brought Spock more people to add to the infection and death count, without a great deal of useful overlap in specific enough transmission possibilities, and this in turn brought more pressure onto Leonard and his analysis of the growing pile of autopsies. Pinning down the cause was a struggle for the entire lab. The damage was evident, but the perpetrator of the pain was elusive.

When they met for lunch each day, at 1300 sharp, they examined each other critically. Leonard caught the bruises under Spock’s eyes, the hollow affect to his previously sharp features. In turn, Spock observed Leonard’s tired expression, the slight pallor to his skin from days spent only in the lab. When their eyes met, they both looked away. They could see the desperation and horror reflected in their faces, and somehow, that would make it real. By an unspoken accord, they didn’t take their lunches inside the hospital cafeteria anymore. They would find a quiet place, isolated and calm, and determinedly keep a silence, as if the lack of words could beat back reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! So, this is the intro/beginning to my Apocalypse AU fic!! Check out the lovely @thevalesofanduin on tumblr, who is responsible for this happening, and @logicallythyla on tumblr, which is me :p
> 
> Thanks for reading, I hope y'all enjoy it!
> 
> <3


	2. Chapter 2

Around a month into their silent, outdoors lunches, Leonard was sitting on a bench, stabbing idly at his lackadaisically put together salad. He was mostly eating foods that he knew were easy to make, and that had good levels of nutrients in them, to keep his brain on top form – though of course all that consideration was negated almost instantly by his sleeplessness. The air was cold, and Leonard couldn’t tell if he was shivering due to excess stress, lack of sleep, actual cold, or a combination of them all.

His mind was still mostly trapped in consideration of what could cause such damage without physical evidence – current theories included that the disease was caused by a miniscule virus that passed through the victim’s system rapidly and vanished, leaving behind toxins that caused the symptoms and deterioration. And so, he was going through the results of the screening of those who were close to current victims of the illness, attempting to find any anomalies.

He was roused from his meandering thoughts by the distinct clatter of metal on the ground, and he automatically looked over, picked it up absently. He looked down, expecting it to be a piece of test-equipment, and was confronted with a fork. He blinked at it hazily for a moment, realisation filtering through, and he held out the fork to Spock with concern.

“’T’aint like ya ta drop things.” Leonard broke the fragile silence, watching Spock’s hands shaking as he took the fork back.

“I apologise, Leonard.” Spock’s voice sounded rough and distant; either he wasn’t drinking enough, or he had a cold. Or something worse.

“Dammit, Spock, there ain’t anythin’ for ya t’apologise for! ‘Cept maybe for workin’ yourself to the bone!” Leonard, as ever, took his worry and made it a refuge in anger, the familiar emotion finally letting him cross the gap between himself and his pent-up feelings.

“I assure you, I am quite alright. I would point out that as a Vulcan, I in fact actively prefer less sleep than the average hu-“

“Don’t give me that bullshit! Y’ain’t been sleepin’ proportionally any better’n I have, an’ I know it! You’ve got yourself a damn stress-induced illness, or somethin’ seasonal ‘cause your immune system’s lowered from workin’ so much!” Leonard took a deep breath, trying to check his frustration. He wasn’t specifically annoyed with Spock, no matter how often the man managed to push every single one of his buttons. “’M’sorry, Spock. ‘S just…ya can’t afford t’be ill, or immunocompromised in any way, not righ’ now.”

“I assure you, Leonard, I am still able to function in my role as coder and analyst.” Spock swayed a little as he spoke, closing his eyes. His slightly green-tinged skin was too pale, his usually immaculately applied pink lipstick absent. He looked shockingly fragile. Leonard’s heart clenched with worry and a strange affection for his sweet, weary posture, so different from his typical poise.

“Dammit, tha’s not what I meant!” Leonard snapped, exasperated and thrown by the wave of caring that swept over him. “I – I couldn’t stand it if the next body on the table I had ta analyse was yours, is all.”

“And yet you, Doctor, are the one working with the more dangerous material. Of the two of us, you are the one to make sustained contact with the victims, daily. Logically, I should be the one to worry for your safety.” Spock opened his eyes, watching Leonard, his face betraying just a little of his emotions as he bit his lip, disrupting the smooth lines.

“Worrying is logical, now?” Leonard scanned Spock’s face, trying to make sense of the little signs of feeling he could see there.

“It is not.” Spock admitted, looking down to his lap, abandoning his food and lacing his fingers together. “It is simply that…” Spock looked up, his haunted eyes meeting Leonard’s searching ones. “There are just...so many more of the dead and infected, to add to the models each day. Each day, I am given a report and the numbers have risen, and I’m expected to reduce each life to nothing but a number in a model that tells me and everyone else who is likely to live, and who is likely to die. Nobody says it, but we are all but clutching at straws, to use a colloquialism. There has been little to no progress in finding the transmission vector, or a cure, and the disease is spreading efficiently across the globe.” Spock paused, running his hands through his hair in distress. “We are expected to continue as if nothing is amiss – as if the word hiding behind everybody’s lips is not _pandemic_.”

“Oh, Spock-” Leonard began, but Spock continued, talking more animatedly now, as his shields fell open, disintegrated by the harsh pressure and safe company.

“It is not that I fear for myself, though perhaps you might argue that I should.” He nodded wryly at Leonard. “It is simply that I see the numbers and I think that they were once people, with lives rich with meaning, and I am helpless to save them. And then I realise just how overwhelmingly lucky I am, to be in such a safe position, so far removed from the reality, because if just the numbers feel like this, I cannot even conceive of what it must be like to attempt to talk to the dying, or to analyse the dead.” His voice was whispery, wavering with emotion by the end of his speech. He turned to Leonard again, and finally broke. “There are just _so many_.”

Leonard reached out automatically, resting a hand on Spock’s forearm. The whorls of his fingertips caught softly on the blue fabric of Spock’s jumper, wrinkling the smooth fabric. Leonard blinked slowly, using his thumb to smooth out the material, trying to soothe the dishevelled aura that had seeped into Spock’s being over the past weeks. He wished he could brush away the drawn, harrowed expression on Spock’s face just as easily.

“Yeah.” He said, unsure what else he could say in the face of the naked truth they had each skirted and avoided through tacit silence. “Too many. I know.”

Leonard felt Spock’s body tip a little towards him, and tried not to tense or startle when Spock’s head rested gently on his shoulder. Leonard lapsed into silence, letting himself just feel the sensations of the moment. Cold air curled around his body, a counterpoint to the warm pressure of Spock at his side. Spock’s hair was soft, sticking up haphazardly and tickling Leonard’s neck, but he paid it no mind, consciously forcing his muscles to relax and allow the feeling. He could feel Spock’s breath heating and cooling the skin on the side of his neck in turns, still registering the texture of his jumper under his fingertips and the faint, spicy scent of his shampoo.

They sat like that, lunch abandoned in favour of the inadequate comfort of closeness, until Spock’s pager alarm beeped. Spock roused himself with a sigh exhaled against Leonard’s skin, sitting upright and rolling his neck, stretching his arms up and arching his back like a cat before falling back into his standard, straight-backed posture. It was this small moment of vulnerability, more than anything else, that brought home to Leonard the intimacy they had just shared.

“Guess we gotta go an’ get back t’work.” Leonard put away his box of food, standing up and waiting for Spock to lead the way out of the small alcove in the hospital garden. Spock stood, and hesitated. His brows angled down momentarily, his lips tightening briefly before he schooled his expression and looked over at Leonard, his mask of serene indifference firmly in place.

“Thank you, Leonard.” Spock looked away, the flick of his dark eyes just a little to fast to be entirely unemotional.

Leonard nodded, and followed Spock’s brisk steps. They parted ways, Spock making his way to his computer lab, while Leonard headed to his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this was enjoyable! We're just getting to know (and worry about) our darlings Leonard and Spock!
> 
> As ever, comments and kudos feed my dark soul!!!
> 
> <3


	3. Chapter 3

Leonard glared at the boxes in his bag. One cheese salad sandwich, and one container of dubiously sourced plomeek soup, intended for Spock. The recipe had been hell to get hold of, even with his research skills, and he was firmly convinced that the plomeek he had been given by the disinterested grocery-store employee had actually been parsnips grown to look like plomeek, but at least either way it would be nutritious. Certainly better than the air Spock seemed to have decided it was reasonable to subsist on during this emergency.

He picked up his bag, shouldering it as he pushed through the heavy hospital doors, the weight pressing on him uncomfortably. He had become used to the colder temperature of his workspace in the morgues, and now the air of the hospital itself felt warm and stifling, uncomfortably like an incubator. He shuddered, his mind filling with images of tiny viruses clogging the air around him.

He held back a cough at the change in air condition, and did his best to ignore the curious and wary glances colleagues cast him as he made his way to the labs. He had found that it was one thing to know decontamination procedures had to be followed, and yet quite another to have people willing to spend time around him now he was working with the bodies of the dead. Not that loneliness was the worst torture, nor was it comparable in any way to what many had been through. The team was being gradually picked off by the illness. One student only a year older than Leonard himself had been removed from duty when their mother got sick, only to fall ill a week later. Their body had been on Christine’s autopsy list, but Leonard did the task himself. They had been close, and it was only fair that Leonard use his relative social isolation to preserve the spirits of those he cared about. He supposed Spock would have called such a decision logical.

He entered the computing labs, letting the door shut behind him with a soft click. Spock jumped at the sound, his chair scraping jarringly across the floor, and Leonard had to rush forward to help Spock regain his balance. Spock twisted so they were facing each other, his eyes swiftly surveying the room. On finding no other occupants, his face relaxed into a faint smile.

“My apologies, Leonard. You startled me; I did not realise it was time for a break.”  
  
“Dammit, ya never think it’s time for a break. If it were left to you, you’d probably end up in here until ya fell of your chair ‘cause your body is tryin’ ta catch up on sleepin’!” Leonard removed his arms from their grip around Spock’s bony shoulders, picking up the Vulcan’s coat and draping it over his shoulders. Spock cast him a look that said everything about what he thought of Leonard’s ‘Georgian chivalry’, and Leonard grinned back unrepentantly. Spock silently picked up his bag, and they headed out, Leonard finding he didn’t have to walk as quickly to keep up with Spock now.

Leonard watched his friend in small bursts, trying not to be caught inspecting him. His hair was neat, but slightly overlong - Spock must have missed a haircut, somewhere in the last month. Spock’s clothes were just a little too baggy, his skin a touch too sallow to be simply due to the copper in his blood. The bags under his eyes were deeper than Leonard’s own, and Leonard’s hands clenched into themselves, one pressing too hard against the satchel strap and the other’s nails carving delicate half-moon indents into his palm.

They reached their customary spot, and Leonard brandished a spoon and the soup at Spock aggressively, taking his worry and warping it into friendly frustration.

“Here,” He said, gruffly. “I made you that damn soup y’always go on about. Maybe now you’ll actually look like you’re enjoyin’ the food rathern’ takin’ a damn bitter pill.”

Spock took the offered items, his hands hovering in the air for a moment before drawing in to his lap. He was staring at Leonard, his dark eyes uncomfortably knowing.

“Thank you, Leonard.”  
  
“Ain’t anythin’ ta thank me for, darlin’. Maybe I jus’ got fed up o’ seein’ your discontented mug whenever we grab food.” Leonard attempted to breeze past the slip-up of the endearment, resolutely ignoring his blush, and Spock’s answering not-smile.

“Nevertheless.” Spock took a spoon of the soup, while Leonard pretended he wasn’t watching to gauge his reaction.

Leonard hadn’t been sure what to expect of the soup experiment, but it certainly wasn’t the deep, thrumming groan that emerged from Spock’s mouth. His eyes fluttered shut, tilting his head back in bliss, before looking back down, opening his eyes and licking his lips, pink with lipstick and bright as the sudden sparkle in his eyes.

“So, how bad of a hash did I make o’ your soup?”  
  
“Leonard…” Spock’s voice sounded positively reverential. “It is...highly satisfactory.”  
  
“Excuse me?” Leonard griped, a smile twisting onto his features, teasingly. “That reaction was a little bit more’n ‘highly satisfactory’, you liar!”  
  
“Vulcans do not lie,” Spock said, somehow now entirely composed.  
  
“Oh, sure.” Spock nodded, a satisfied expression flickering across his features, reminding Leonard forcibly of a cat. “In a pig’s eye!”  
  
“I assure you, the soup is eminently edible.” Spock took another spoonful, and a small amount of the soup dripped onto his forefinger. Silently, he put the spoon down, opening his mouth to lick away the warm liquid. Spock’s eyes slid over to watch Leonard, the only outward sign that he might be doing it on purpose.

Leonard forced himself to roll his eyes, even as he unconsciously licked his lips, his eyes falling right back into fixating on Spock’s lips and fingers.

“Brat.” He accused, finishing off his sandwich to avoid the smug aura that Spock was broadcasting somehow, despite his expression being almost entirely neutral.

“I do not know what you are referring to, Leonard, save perhaps yourself.”

“Save it, ya damn coder!” Leonard grinned to take away the heat of the barb - despite everything, at least the rivalry between life sciences and physical ones would inevitably continue.

“Indeed.” Spock serenely finished up the soup, meticulously licking the spoon clean and then storing it inside the container, clicking it shut deftly, his long, dexterous fingers making quick work of the task. Leonard blinked, forcing himself to look away. 

“I will wash the container.” Spock half-offered, the confident mischief bleeding out of his posture as he faced practicality once more.

“Nah, don’t worry, I’ll do it.” Leonard tugged the container from Spock’s grip, glaring as he made to protest. “An’ don’t you say anythin’ about it! This is somethin’ friends do, yknow. It’s a human custom. Tradition. You don’t wanna dismiss that now, do ya?”  
  
“Certainly.” Spock demurred, but his eyes were laughing with more understanding than a simple desire to honour tradition.

Leonard packed the empty containers back into his bag, shouldering the burden and bouncing up to his feet. His movements felt distinctly more energetic, buoyed by their interaction, his bad and spirits both lighter as they stepped carefully across the pavestones painted dark with rain. Leonard opened the door for Spock, partly to irritate him and partly because such gestures had seeped into his automatic actions unconsciously, when he had been busy steadfastly ignoring his burgeoning crush.

Spock restrained himself from rolling his eyes, instead raising an eyebrow at Leonard, before entering the building. Stepping inside, Leonard kept his eyes on Spock’s sharp shoulder blades, following his path through the crowded entrance, holding back a sigh of relief as they reached the restricted corridors once more. Spock’s posture, which had relaxed into a kind of ease as they ate, was now back to being tense and hunched. Leonard’s fingers thrummed against the strap of his bag and his thigh, itching to find a way to somehow soothe the tension. 

They continued, silently coming to an agreement that Leonard would walk with Spock to the computer labs, before going to his own stop at the morgue. Leonard was so distracted in restraining the urge to do something foolish like offering Spock empty words of comfort, or taking him into a quiet room and kissing him into relaxation, that he almost didn’t notice the abrupt change in Spock as they passed the doors to the wards.

In another person, it would have been a subtle thing, easily ascribed to a subconscious horror. In Spock, the tiny, full body flinch screamed of an agony of discomfort. Leonard’s eyes caught Spock’s as the other man looked away, clearly hoping his slip-up had not been noticed. Leonard bit his lip, his care for Spock warring with his desire to avoid having to talk about any aspect of the entire situation. His indecision made him linger. Spock’s eyes widened a little, and he walked a touch too stiffly and swiftly away from Leonard and the ward. This not-quite-reaction finally tripped a decision in Leonard’s mind, and he surged forward to catch up with him.

Leonard grabbed Spock’s arm, the now-familiar texture of the jumper faint and rough against his hand as he dragged Spock further down the corridor and into an empty observation room. He tried not to think about how easy Spock had become to manhandle. 

“Leonard, this behaviour is most i-”  
  
“Dammit, Spock, if the next word outta your mouth is ‘illogical’, I swear I’ll - I’ll -” Leonard sputtered for a moment, struggling to think of a threat he was willing to both say and carry out. “I’ll fold over the pages in that book ya lent me!” He glared impressively, or as impressively as was possible given the lightness of the threat.

“Why have you decided that it is necessary to drag me into an empty room and insult me?” Spock seemed to be trying to appear aloof, a feat which would have been easier to achieve if his hair hadn’t become uncharacteristically messy, or his eyes hadn’t held the trace of fear that so worried Leonard.

“I’m not tryin’ ta insult you, dammit!” Leonard took a deep breath, and tried to quell the shaking of his fingers. “I’m worried.” He admitted.

Spock’s mouth opened as if to say something, but he closed it again as if thinking better of his initial response. The room echoed with silence for a moment, their breathing stark in the quiet. Spock’s lips tightened, his expression starting to close off again. His dark eyes landed to rest on Leonard, seeming to take in every detail of his disarray. Leonard felt each flaw in sharp relief, accentuated in his mind and the unforgiving hospital lighting. After a moment, the tension in Spock’s face released, and he spoke. “I see.”

“Are ya gonna tell me what it is that’s got ya in such a mess when you’re around the wards? An’ don’t try ta bullshit me on this, I damn well know that for you a tiny shiver is practically emotional.”  
  
“I would not attempt to deceive you.”  
  
“Oh, really? ‘Cause denyin’ by deflection sure seemed that way to me!” Leonard groused.

“I meant, not any further than I already have. I apologise,” Spock sighed, looking a little ashamed. “It was unworthy of me, to attempt to hide from you when you only wish to help.”

“Dammit, Spock, I-” Leonard broke off, realising that he had actually agreed and apologised. If nothing else had been evident, that alone would have been ample evidence that something was awry. “What’s goin’ on?” His tone was softened, gentle now where it had been sharp with frustration and worry.

Spock took a breath, tongue flicking out to wet his lips, drawing Leonard’s traitorous eyes to them until he could drag his gaze away. Spock’s face was cast in deep shadow by the white-blue lighting beating down on them, making every flicker of movement on his face seem exaggerated. Spock’s eyebrows drew together a little, nose wrinkling the slightest bit and his lips drawing in on themselves from the effort of holding back his emotions. His lips parted then slammed shut again as one hand shot out to grab ahold of Leonard’s arm. He clung to it as if it were an anchor, looking down and closing his eyes for a moment. His free hand reached to his temple, and when he looked up, hand sliding back to his side, his expression was the most open and achingly vulnerable set Leonard had ever seen in all the years he had known him.

“You know of Vulcan touch-telepathy, yes, Doctor?” Spock’s voice was quiet, softly broken as he formed his friend’s title.

“Well, sure I do.” Leonard abruptly reeled, thinking that he might just know where this factual statement was going, and not liking the idea one bit.

“It would seem that, given my own hybrid status and the extreme concentrations of emotion present at the current time, I have experienced a significant increase in psi sensitivity.”  
  
“An’ that means?” Leonard bit his lip, hoping to hell that he hadn’t pieced together the puzzle correctly.

“It would seem that, at least near the ward, I am not a touch-telepath any longer. I simply require proximity and intensity of emotion, both of which are abundant near the wards.” He slumped as he admitted it, swaying back to lean on the wall nearest to him.

“Oh, Spock…” Leonard was alarmed by the depth of anguish in his voice. “I’m so sorry. I can’t even begin to imagine - hell, I don’t have a rough deal compared to most but fuckin’ dammit, Spock, ya should’ve said somethin’! We could try an’ find somethin’ to protect you, or help!”  
  
“And have valuable time wasted dealing with what is in fact an issue that affects solely one person, delaying the assistance of thousands?” Spock’s expression became more resolute, and Leonard didn’t need telepathy to know that his mind was set. “It would be illogical. Not only that, but it would be...irresponsible. I am not the one who is dying, Leonard.”  
  
“Still,” Leonard said, hoping to sound grudging despite his frustration wilting as quickly as it had grown. “Listenin’ to all that...hearin’ their emotion and minds? It’d do a number on anyone, let alone a Vulcan. That’s gotta be like some kinda torture.”

“I did not mean to intimate that it is easy,” Spock replied, his voice crumbling into emotionality. “Simply that such redirection of resource would be unequivocally unwise.”  
  
“Maybe,” Leonard said, knowing that now was not the time to rail against such utilitarian philosophy. “But it would be kind.”

Leonard stepped forward hesitantly, letting his bag slide to the floor and carefully sliding his hand up Spock’s arm, the other hand resting on his shoulder in an offer of comfort he could only hope was not empty.

Slowly, Spock let his head bow down, until his forehead rested gently on Leonard’s. Spock’s free arm slid gently around Leonard’s waist, his entire body curling into him, trembling almost imperceptibly with tension and emotional release. Leonard’s hands moved of their own accord, over the texture of wool and onto the smooth warmth of skin. He cupped Spock’s head in his hands, thumbs just sensing the thrumming pulse beneath Spock’s fragile skin, his fingertips buried in soft black hair at the nape of his neck. The urge to kiss him was muted somehow by the emotional proximity, and with a start he realised that this must be painfully similar to a meld. He made to draw away, but one of Spock’s hands raised to clasp his own, holding it to his skin gently.

Leonard exhaled shakily. Despite his abysmal psi-ratings, he thought he could sense the quiet desperation and relief in him as Spock seemed to take refuge in the embrace.

“There is so much pain.” Spock whispered the words, as if keeping the sentences quiet could soften the raw edge in his voice. “Desperation and horror and hopelessness, and though I know logically that it is not my own it bleeds through my shields if I lapse for even a second. My shields are built for skin contact, not this constant press of emotion. If I shut it out, it takes all my reserves, and renders me useless to aid the pain that I can sense.” Spock’s hands tightened at Leonard’s waist. “I can hear their prayers, Leonard. I work and I try and no matter what I do, I cannot answer any of them.”

“But you’re doin’ your best!” Leonard replied, fiercely, lifting his forehead and moving so he could take in Spock’s devastated features. “There ain’t a thing more as can be asked of you, Spock, ya hear me? You’re drivin’ yourself to the bone for these people, an’ its hell an’ it’s hard, but you’re doin’ so goddamn well! ‘T’ain’t your job t’answer their prayers, darlin’. Tha’s between them an’ whatever god might listen. You don’t gotta fix it all by yourself. We got a whole team, an’ you’re an important part of it. We’ll get there, someday, an’ you’ll be able ta say that hey, you did what you could. No miracles, ‘cause those don’t exist, but ya did everythin’ in your power an’ a great deal out of it too.”  
  
Leonard trailed off, letting Spock’s weight sag between him and the supporting wall. He could feel a small eddy of emotion rippling through him, through his fingertips and into his mind. He could feel just a little of Spock’s anxiety and pain, feel his solid determination and bone-deep weariness. Spock’s mind and thoughts were sharp as steel, tumbling and scraping in on himself in a relentless onslaught of ‘just keep going’ and ‘there is only logic, there is no pain, please, no pain’ and softest of all an insidious whisper of ‘what if nothing I do makes a difference’. The thoughts were a familiar parallel to Leonard’s own, and he instinctively surged over them, soothing them with a sense of calm and comfort, attempting to lend some moments of seeming control in the ocean of overwhelm between them.

Slowly, Spock’s weight on Leonard lessened, his limbs seeming to regain strength. Still, despite this, he lingered, and Leonard revelled in the calmer connection now between them, a tiny port in a raging storm. He was fixating again, on the lines of Spock’s eyelashes casting shadows on his cheek, on the slight part in his lips, and it was unwise to dwell given their mental connection but Leonard could no more help his rising desire and love than he could help their continuing undercurrent of fear. For a moment, Leonard thought he could feel a fleeting desire that was not his own, and then it and Spock’s mind were gone.

He withdrew from the embrace, flushing hotly at the realisation they had been clinging to each other well past the starts of their shifts. The glaring problem of what to say was solved before he could begin to spiral into worry.

“Thank you, Leonard.” Spock’s voice was soft and laden with emotion. It pulled at Leonard’s heart, making him ache to hold him again. Instead, he nodded.

“‘Course. Anytime.” The words came out hoarse, choked on the slew of unsaid things, and together they walked in silence to their respective places, hoping beyond hope that the devastation around them would ease.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this one is...a lot longer than the previous two chapters and I can't tell if the first two are short of this one is long? It's also a lot more angsty and speech-y, and I hope that worked out ok!
> 
> Comments, kudos they feed my dark angst-loving soul, etc etc!
> 
> <3


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